WST note -
Given the recent challenges and continuously hostile environment the great steelbands of Brooklyn, New York, operate in - it may unfortunately soon be easier to find a teepee or canoe on the streets of Canarsie, Crown Heights, East Flatbush and Bedford Stuyvesant, than a steelband. These places for decades, were long the traditional homes to the steel orchestras. Moreover, they were a critical part of the lives, culture and expression of the people. However, with the recent and massive influx of many adverse and indifferent 'aliens' into Brooklyn - coupled with devious politicians, racist policies and unscrupulous developers - the power, beauty and music of the great drums of the steel orchestras may be silenced forever.
Just review the contentious
Brooklyn Community Board 9 conflict.

But before they completely disappear into the midnight it is essential to take a look at the history, mistakes, policies and architects of this death march. Journalist Peter Noel has granted When Steel Talks (WST) permission to republish his critical document on the clash between the steelpan community and the city of New York at a pivotal moment in its existence.

George Santayana's quote “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” no doubt applies here. A must read. - WST

Giuliani Declares War on
Carnival
We have insisted and continue to insist that the uniqueness of the West Indian kar-na-val is one that has to be understood in its own cultural context. This is not a
parade. We’re not marching. This is not a festival. We don’t put on cultural dances.
This is kar-na-val.

—Pan Rebel steelband advocate Dawad W. Philip

PLAYING TO FEARMONGERING BY BILL O’RILEY and his ilk, the
Giuliani administration unleashed an army of police, firefighters, and building
inspectors who consistently raided a Brooklyn lot occupied by steelband players
and masquerade designers preparing for Carnival 2000. The crackdown coincided with borough-wide raids, which disrupted or completely shut down some
pan yards, mas’ camps, and backyard parties, and the Giuliani administration’s
ban on the sale of alcohol during the nation’s largest ethnic gathering. “Why do
we have to take medicine for someone else’s fever?” asked an irate Dawad W.
Philip, a steelband advocate. “If people at the Puerto Rican Day Parade got out of
hand, why clamp down on us? That’s not the way we behave.”
One week before Carnival, a lawyer for the Pan Rebels, Metro, and Nu-Tones
steel orchestras, acting on information obtained from Philip, filed a complaint in
U.S. District Court in Brooklyn seeking to bar the NYPD from “proceeding with
the threatened closure of their assembly and rehearsal location” at 660, 670, and
680 Parkside Avenue in Flatbush. According to the complaint, Philip and steel
band captains Anthony Joseph and Anthony Trebuse allegedly had been
“informed and instructed by high-ranking officers” that August 24 would be “the
last night to practice and rehearse ... since [cops] would be closing down the
block” between Rogers and Nostrand avenues. The complaint also named Mayor
Giuliani, newly appointed Police Commissioner Bernard Kerik, the fire department, and the Department of Buildings as defendants.

Although the Parkside Avenue steelband players and masqueraders had grown
accustomed to sporadic harassment from the Giuliani administration over the
years, it was an unusual collusion between cops and Klyn Properties Inc., owners
of the lot, that sparked a 10-night, tension-riddled standoff with authorities.
Shortly before the new spate of raids, the landlord—bypassing legal proceedings
in which he might have obtained a warrant for eviction—filed an affidavit at the
71st Precinct stationhouse, complaining that the steelbands, which occupied
three buildings on the lot rent free since 1994, were trespassing. Instead of marshals and sheriffs, the revelers suddenly had to contend with the stationhouse’s
private eviction squad. “The cops acted as surrogate marshals,” recalled Philip.
“Once the landlord made the call, it became convenient for the police. More than
likely they viewed the nightly congestion on the block as a nuisance—these
natives running wild—and ordered the place shut.”

Stephan Gleich, the attorney who represented Klyn Properties, acknowledged
that he filed the affidavit that “authorized the police to make arrests.” He likened
the occupation by the steelband players to “a criminal attack,” adding, “It’s no
less than burglary.” But Edward A. Roberts, the attorney who filed the federal
complaint on behalf of the steelband players, questioned the relationship between
Gleich and the 71st Precinct. “You can’t get cops to evict people even when the
marshal has a warrant,” Roberts says with a smirk. “How can you get them to
respond so quickly to an abandoned building without a court proceeding? Any
rookie officer can walk across the street and say, ‘Cut off the music. Everybody go
home!’ That’s how bad it is. Totally whimsical.”

For a short period, prior to the filing of the federal complaint, it seemed as
though Giuliani would respond in favor of the steelband players. On August 22,
as the mayor left a funeral service for the wife of Carlos Lezama, he was con
fronted by Brooklyn Assemblyman Nick Perry. “I informed him that there was a
potential crisis situation on Parkside Avenue that needed some understanding
and sensitivity in order to arrive at an appropriate solution,” remembered Perry,
who along with State Senator John Sampson, City Councilmember Una Clarke,
and Congressman Major Owens had thwarted several illegal attempts to evict the
steelbands.

Pan Rebels
practicing outside on Parkside
Avenue

Perry said that Giuliani “did not appear to be aware” of the controversy but
promised to look into it and get back to him. As the deadline drew near for the
cop-led eviction, Perry said he tried to contact Giuliani but was told that the
mayor was traveling upstate. He was contacted later by Deputy Mayor Rudy
Washington, who is black and was the mayor’s point man for Carnival. “Rudy
called me with a solution that he apparently had thought up without taking the
time to listen to the facts about the situation,” Perry told me.

Washington put Perry in contact with an official at the New York City Housing Authority, who offered to relocate the steelbands to an abandoned warehouse
in Long Island City. Perry recoiled at the “absurd suggestion,” saying it was not a
compromise he could take back to the steelband leaders. “I said, ‘If you have any
idea at all about what this is about, you’ll know that if you take these guys to
Long Island City you’re effectively eliminating them from the carnival because
they would never make it back to Brooklyn for Labor Day.” The official’s smug
response was, essentially, “Take it or leave it.”

“You guys aren’t listening,” Perry said he told the official.
“If you need shelter, that’s all you can get,” the official allegedly retorted.

That kind of dismissive attitude worried Philip, who had long suspected that
the Giuliani administration, in cahoots with greedy developers and some ethnic
groups, was instigating resentment of Carnival. “But why?” asked the dread-
locked activist, who was affiliated with Pan Rebels, a steelband vying for the
championship in the 2000 Panorama competition. “Why would they resent us
when we pump nearly $300 million into the city’s economy every year?”

Among a series of changes for the September 4, Carnival was a ban on alcohol
sales and consumption, and the requirement that the drivers of vehicles pulling
floats pass a police department safety review. Further, the city mandated that the
vehicles have a police officer riding in the passenger seat and required Carnival
marshals to undergo training by the department. A mayoral task force said the
safety measures were mandatory after two children and an adult were struck and
killed in 1999 by floats.

Dawad Philip former editor in chief of The Daily Challenge
with the
Prime
Minster
of
Trinidad
and
Tobago Kamla Persad-Bissessar
on
recent
visit to
New York
- 2014

But Philip, who also was editor in chief of The Daily Challenge, the city’s only
black daily newspaper, argued the ban on alcohol sales could hurt the event financially, since it was underwritten in part through alcohol sales during the five-day
celebration that encompassed Carnival. Philip blasted the double standard that
punished the West Indian Carnival but exempted the Festival of San Genaro in
Little Italy from the alcohol prohibition. He added that West Indians unfairly
were singled out as the city continued its crackdown on drunken mobs at parades.
“Why would you give preferential treatment to organizers of the Feast
of San Genaro to sell liquor?” Philip asked.

Comparing Carnival under the Koch administration to how it was being
treated by the Giuliani regime, Philip asserted that “Koch comes across as
benevolent in light of what we’re dealing with now to keep this culture alive.” This was
not a controversial claim; Philip was not a reckless blabbermouth. He had
devoted his life to promoting tolerance of a culture that some in the Giuliani
administration regarded as nothing more than the annoying din of “bottle and
spoon and steel drums.

Pan Rebels captured by Basement Recordings in 2000 outside their
Parkside Panyard as they prepare for panorama 2000.

That was the ignorance a phalanx of cops from the 71st Precinct might have
been armed with when they swooped down on the Parkside Avenue steelband
players at about 8 p.m. on August 16. According to the players’ complaint, the
raid occurred while they were “assembled and assiduously engaged in the practice
and rehearsal of the art form of steelband music.” When the players demanded to
see a warrant, one cop allegedly replied, “You are being evicted because we are
police officers and we say so. You must leave or you will be arrested.” The players
watched helplessly as the cops removed their expensive instruments, dumped
them on the sidewalk, and padlocked the premises.

Philip arrived as police were taking Metro Steel Orchestra captain Anthony
Joseph away in handcuffs. He contacted Assemblyman Perry, and they went to
the 71st Precinct stationhouse, where Joseph was booked and charged with criminal trespassing. Like attorney Roberts, Perry felt it was inappropriate for the
police to act as the landlord’s enforcer. The cops confirmed they had an affidavit
from Gleich. Said Perry: “So I asked the lieutenant, ‘If I have tenants I need to
get rid of, should I just sign an affidavit and you’d come and evict them?” The
cops were not swayed by that reasoning. A law-enforcement source said cops targeted Joseph because Gleich had accused him of impersonating the landlord and
collecting money from the steelbands and other businesses who had illegally set
up shop on the property. Gleich denied he knew Joseph.

“He is a liar,” said Philip. “Stephan Gleich had a relationship with Tony
Joseph for almost six years. Apparently, their relationship soured. What exactly
happened when Tony and the landlord fell out, I’m not clear, but what I do
know is that all the bands have suffered.”

The next day—just as a judge was hearing the charges against Joseph—Philip,
Perry, and two other concerned West Indian Americans were meeting with
Joseph Fox, commander of patrol borough Brooklyn South, and other high-ranking
officers at Perry’s district office. The upshot of the meeting was that Fox
would work to put an end to the “heavy-handed police action,” both Philip and
Perry recalled. After the meeting, Philip went back to Parkside Avenue. He was
shocked to see four high-ranking officers from the 71st Precinct poised to eject
the players from the sidewalk. “I mean, they’re angry, in your face,” he
remembered Officers at Perry’s district office. The upshot of the meeting was that Fox
would work to put an end to the “heavy-handed police action,” both Philip and
Perry recalled. After the meeting, Philip went back to Parkside Avenue. He was
shocked to see four high-ranking officers from the 71st Precinct poised to eject
the players from the sidewalk. “I mean, they’re angry, in your face,” he remembered.

Philip said he told the cops about his meeting with Chief Fox and advised
them to consult him about changes in tactics that were being considered. “They
were ready to go into estapo mode,” he charged. “One of them told me it
doesn’t matter who I talked to because tomorrow morning the buildings department was coming to shut this place down.” Philip raced to Una Clarke’s office.
“While I was there, one of the guys called me and said the fire department was
trying to close us down,” he said. “Every time we tried to plug a hole, somebody
opened one.” Philip talked with a ranking firefighter and passed him on to a furious Clarke.

“I just opened your new firehouse,” Clarke reminded the firefighter. Suddenly, he said, “We don’t see a fire,” and ordered his men to pull back. With
elected officials like Clarke, Perry, Sampson, and Owens applying pressure, the
steelband players were allowed back into the buildings temporarily.

On August 18, just as the cops promised, Department of Buildings inspector
Anthony Carbone showed up at the premises. In the presence of the police, Car
bone declared 670 Parkside Avenue “hazardous” due to a “failure to maintain
[the] building.” He found that the “roof joists at various locations [were] cracked
and water-rotted.” The roof itself was “collapsed in several locations.” In his summons, Carbone recommended that the steelband players “make conditions safe
immediately” and “upon completion [they were to] submit a letter of stability
from a professional engineer.” Despite the violations, Carbone declared that the
building “essentially” was structurally sound, according to the players’ complaint.

“Unfortunately for us, when the inspector came it was raining and the roof
was indeed leaking,” said Philip. “He gave us some time to pull out the instruments and then told the police to close us down. It would have been that or the
instruments would be locked up in the building.” Later that evening, a crew of
building inspectors returned in the company of Chief Fox. The inspectors
ordered the buildings vacated and again locked out the players.

“We brought in an engineer but then the landlord changed his rules,” Philip
charged. “He began to ask for rent, repairs, and liability insurance. Then he said
he didn’t want any activity in the building. He told me, ‘We need our building.’
He stacked the deck to make it impossible for us to do repairs.” On August 21,
the sanitation department hit the players with a $250 summons for having “steel
band floats, steel drums, [and] wooden platforms ... completely blocking [the]
sidewalk.” Said Philip, “We received at least three more citations.”